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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982080">It's not a trick. (It's not just a magic trick)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nio_bee_um/pseuds/nio_bee_um'>nio_bee_um</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Cussing, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Heavy Angst, Jim is a Little Shit, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Reverse Reichenbach, Sebastian Moran Being an Asshole, just a bit, protective sebastian moran, these two would die for their geniuses... so they do</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 11:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nio_bee_um/pseuds/nio_bee_um</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“When it's time to die, go ahead and die, and when it's time to live, live. Don't sort-of-maybe live, but live like you're going all out, like you're not afraid.” ― Sue Monk Kidd</i><br/><b>Reverse Reichenbach - What if everything changed? John Watson and Sebastian Moran on the rooftop at St. Bart's.</b><br/>“You and I, we’re so similar. Could’ve gotten along well-” Sebastian sighed, taking a step back, “Say we wouldn’t, if you’d like. But you, just like me, you've decided that you would die for your genius.”<br/>“What do you-” John started, wary, as dread coursed through him.<br/><i>"Now you're going to."</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sebastian Moran &amp; John Watson, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's not a trick. (It's not just a magic trick)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! So this is the first fic I've ever posted on AO3, thanks for having me!<br/>This caused me so much pain to write, so enjoy, and I am so, <i>so</i> sorry...</p><p>Chapter title is from the song <a>Play with Fire - Sam Tinnesz</a></p><p>Disclaimer (do we even do disclaimers anymore?): I don't own Sherlock (BBC); I don't own St. Bart's rooftop; I don't own Sebastian Moran, as much as I would like to - even though he is public domain and this Sebastian is entirely a fandom headcanon -  Jim would kill me; and I don't own you. Good? Good.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>***</b><br/>
Today was the day.<br/>
Sebastian Moran walked through the London streets with a decided purpose. Jim, the adorable little monster he was, was already leading Sherlock on, playing the game, all in preparation for the big reveal. </p><p>So Sebastian did as he was told, would go where Jim wanted him, and would do so without complaint. They worked like that, he flowed along with Moriarty’s intricate plots and fixations, following orders. In turn, he was sometimes, <i>sometimes,</i> able to be a grounding figure, a voice of reason barely managing to break into the mania.</p><p>He was in love with James Moriarty. He told him that, often, he’s never heard it back. He never expects it, knows better than that by now, years of working with him and Sebastian knew that the mastermind can’t have a weak spot. It doesn’t matter to him, in all honesty. Jim could’ve loved him, or tolerated him as his pet, what mattered was how he showed it, which he did, even without saying words. The cuddles, bickering, meals together, the rambling soliloquies - the silent display of trust that came with sharing those ideas, valuing Sebastian’s opinions as a right-hand - and the watchful eye over him. These things told the ex-colonel all he needed to know.</p><p>All he needed was to know was what Jim was planning. Which he did. Until today, where he apparently didn’t.</p><p><b>***</b><br/>
“Oh, Tiger, Sherly is getting repaid today.” Jim had chided casually as they ate breakfast that morning, taking a large bite of toast with a *munch*. Sebastian looked up in surprise, his arm slipping off the countertop awkwardly as he stared at Jim.</p><p>“Now? What are you planning?” He questioned, the IOU was the one thing that Jim had refused to tell him about, which was distinctively unusual. Sebastian leaned properly on the countertop in Kitty Riley’s kitchen as though it was just Richard and his boyfriend Severin, and not the most dangerous men in London. Just Richard who hadn’t slept a wink, from fear, not anticipation, until his boyfriend had forced him to at least lie with him. And Severin, who in turn, had woken up with ferocious ginger spikes of bedhead, and the Irishman in his arms.</p><p>Scoffing, Jim shot him a look, “Don’t worry about it, pet. Everything is set, he’s got nowhere to hide, and after this, you’ll never have to worry your pretty little head about him again.” That was… equal parts expected and entirely out of left field. Sure, Sebastian had witnessed the destruction of Sherlock’s reputation firsthand. What more was there to want?</p><p>“But-” Sebastian cleared his throat, “why? Why destroy his reputation if you’re just going to kill him right away?” he furrowed his brow, rolling the shell of a hard-boiled egg and peeling it. This entire plan would seem redundant if Sherlock just died then, what does his tarnished reputation matter if he just got killed right after?</p><p>“Well, I’m not going to kill him.” Jim stated like it was obvious, “No point in me doing something I could’ve just ordered any time. It’s about the <i>game,</i> Sebby, embrace it; what’s worse than killing a fraud detective?” he asked, his face falling to the calm, serene look that meant he was something worth fearing. Because whenever someone met his dark, gleaming eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips, it’s something far more dangerous than any psychotic mood he’d expressed. This was something cool, and collected, a condensed case of his mania and rational thought, waiting to be unleashed. </p><p>Sebastian was silent for a moment, before he fully understood. “Jim, what the fuck?” That was irrational, a horrible choice, how the hell did that idiot genius intend on- “You seriously expect that to work, I mean he’d need some serious motivation and…” he trailed off and shrank back slightly at Jim’s glare.</p><p>“Moran, I have it handled. You’ve got a job to do, so do it, and if any problem should arise, you’ll be the first to know.” He snapped, more Moriarty than Jim. Sebastian knew better than to doubt his plans, Jim knew what he was doing, but then why did he feel so uneasy? </p><p>But when his boss gave him an eyebrow, he just nodded. “Yessir.” Sebastian huffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. Back to work then.</p><p>They finished preparations with minimal words exchanged, and it was equal parts an issue, and unimportant. Sebastian trusted Jim, fundamentally, but it didn’t help to be left out of crucial information. This wasn’t an uncommon situation, they’d have a row, ignore each other, and then one of them would break - Frankly, usually Sebastian. He knew what he was getting into a long time ago, which meant always being the better man. Forgiveness started to come easier to him eventually. - but they knew this situation wouldn’t be without a unique threat posed by working against Holmes.</p><p>So on his way out, gear slung in his bag over his shoulder, Sebastian gave Jim a two-finger point and gestured for him to come over. He held out his hand, loitering in the doorway, smiling softly when Jim took it in his own with a squeeze. Fingers laced together, Jim reached his arm up and ruffled the ginger hair in front of him, a smirk emerging. Sebastian just sighed and tugged him closer.</p><p>“There we are, alright? I trust you,” Sebastian murmured, stooping down to give the shorter man a firm, reassuring kiss. “I love you. See you soon.” He nodded down at him, stepping back, ready to go.</p><p>“Don’t be a lummox.” Jim called after him, snickering at the V-sign offered in response, Sebastian taking one last glance back at him, amusement in his eyes. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”<br/>
Rolling his eyes and walking forward, Sebastian hadn’t known that would be the last time he’d ever see Jim Moriarty.</p><p>
  <b>***</b>
</p><p>It finally occurs to Sebastian just why he’d felt restless all day. Now, en route to track down Sherlock’s companion John Watson, it all made sense. <i>Oh, that idiot-</i> the most brilliant are always the most foolish, it seems.<br/>
Right here, it sinks in truly, that Jim will do anything to defeat Sherlock Holmes, and Sebastian knows that ‘anything’ is not an overstatement. He also knows that the bastard of a detective would do anything to keep Jim from winning. And Jim had a gun. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sebastian looked out of the window, past the spiraling stairway he’d set himself on.</p><p>He had to do something. Sebastian couldn’t watch Jim fight for his life, not like this. So he did the one stupid and most horrible idea he can think of, if everything would turn out fine: Sebastian Moran directly disobeyed orders.</p><p>Left to his own devices, Sebastian tried to formulate a scheme of his own, working with next to nothing, just time. He was so pissed, furious that Jim couldn’t have just fucking told him. That bloody lummox couldn’t have thought to share any of the danger he was going to put himself in, with, well, who knows, maybe his <i>right-hand man?</i></p><p>He knew, with a deep breath, that he didn’t have the time, energy, or capacity to be mad at him right now. Sebastian took a look at his situation, as realistically as he could manage, and a concept came to mind. So he acted on it.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Sherlock is in danger. Send him elsewhere, don’t let him know he isn’t safe. Then meet me on the rooftop. x</p>
</blockquote>Satisfied with the vaguely cryptic text message, which held a good samaritan’s tone, Ex-Colonel Sebastian Moran sent it without a trace, to John Watson. He packed up his bag in moments and was down the stairs and out on the street. Diverting Jim was a simple enough concept, and Sebastian had learned far more about the mastermind than he’d really considered. A choice text to send him running after Sherlock, somewhere Sherlock wasn’t, and he’d be out of his hair.<p><i>Fuckity fuck fuck.</i> The plan was set in motion, he’d go to the rooftop, burn the heart out of Sherlock - Jim never did like doing the dirty work - there was just one more thing to do.</p><p><b>***</b><br/>
On the rooftop, now, he looked over the edge and took a glance around him. Sebastian almost finds it funny, he’d done his job on countless rooftops, in every nook, cranny, and crevice. This was the most important, and he wasn’t even going to kill anyone. He did what he always did, wait. There was less hiding than usual, he sat in clear view, his duffel and the parcel he’d retrieved both at his feet.</p><p>Then he saw him, and it all started.<br/>
“Ah, Doctor Watson, thank you for joining me,” Sebastian called as Watson looked around the roof in confusion. He looked tired, clearly, he hadn’t recovered from the hell Jim had raised overnight. </p><p>“Who are you?” John asked, tone guarded as they both got closer to each other. Sebastian couldn’t mess this up, he’d take care of everything, and keep Jim safe. He needed to.</p><p>“Right, we haven’t been introduced.” He smiled at the doctor, a massive, toothy grin, just to lighten things up. “I’m Sebastian Moran. You’ve heard of me, or does your detective keep you out of the loop?” He tried not to consider how often his boss had done the same, as he offered his hand.</p><p>Alarm and recognition ran through John, who hesitated when shaking his hand. “Yeah, of course, I know who you are.” He glared at him, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “What’s this about? What are you planning?” John looked him over, searching for an answer. There was nothing, just a smile and an empty rooftop. Mostly empty.</p><p>Sebastian raised his arms in faux surrender, “Why so hostile?” he chided, cocking his head. “Honestly, you should probably be thanking me. He really was in danger, you know.” Stooping down, he held up the parcel, snickering when John stepped back. “Relax. Damn, Holmes keeps his pets tense, huh?”</p><p><i>“Pet?”</i> John said incredulously, “I’m not his bloody <i>pet.</i>” he snapped defensively, watching the package with caution, which only made Sebastian giggle more. That bastard had some nerve, John realized, the murderer was carefree in his presence, something that sent an unsettled twinge to his abdomen.</p><p>“ ‘m not his bloody pet’” Sebastian muttered in a mocking tone, unwrapping the package and holding up a bottle of whiskey. He shook it slightly like an old friend inviting John for a catch-up and a drink. </p><p>“I also really don’t see how a psychopath like you, could possibly save Sherlock’s life.” John challenged, his stance more rigid, brow furrowed.</p><p>Sighing when John’s resolve remained unwavering, Sebastian gave him an annoyed glance. “First of all, <i>I’m</i> not a psychopath. Serial killer and gun for hire, sure, psychopath? Nah, that’s all Jimmy.” He rolled his shoulders, broke the seal of the whiskey, and took a swig. Sebastian wouldn’t lie, even in times of extreme danger, feeling the amber liquid burn down his throat provided some simple form of solace - that was some damn good whiskey. “Second, he should be well on his way to dead, by now. I’m directly disobeying orders, okay?” Sebastian held the bottle out to him.</p><p>John grimaced at him. “You seriously expect me to believe that?”</p><p>“Yes, I do.”</p><p>Scoffing, John rounded on him, “Are you-”</p><p>“Probably.” Sebastian interrupted, not even caring about the question. “I bet a little bit of you believes me, too. You know what I know, those geniuses are utter idiots sometimes. They’re focused on the big picture, their ‘game’. We’re focused on keeping them alive, right?” He gave him a nod of solidarity. “We’re protectors. We’re soldiers.” Well, one invalided and one dishonorably discharged, but soldiers nonetheless.</p><p>“I am nothing like you,” John growled back at him. “Sherlock is my partner, of course, I’ll do everything I can to save him.” Moran was dangerous, extremely dangerous and John could tell something was coming, but he didn’t know how to stop it. A small, very small - very large - part of him understood him. Sherlock was so brilliant, but a cock to everyone and with no regard for his personal safety.</p><p><i>“Partner?”</i> Sebastian whined, a pitiful expression on his face. “No, I’m so sorry, here have a sip.” He held the bottle out to him again, “It’s not poisoned, just really good American-Irish whiskey, for god’s sake just-” John snatched the bottle from his hand and took an extremely small sip. “See? Nice vanilla-y hint to it, a bit of bourbon, and when you swallow the spices kick in…”</p><p>John didn’t reply, just took a second sip with a passive glare still lingering.</p><p>Grinning, Sebastian slid his hands into his pockets. “You know, if you just accepted it, things really aren’t that bad.” He said contemplatively, “But you’re so determined to be special.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” the hesitation returned to John, his tone anxious.</p><p>“They’re special, that’s their job. James Moriarty, the most dangerous man in London, and Holmes can nearly match his intellect.” Sebastian noted mentally, that Holmes was smarter, but goddamn, if Jim didn’t have the power and cunning to make up for it. “We’re not special. We’re people, just normal, ordinary, boring people. People who, somehow caught the attention of someone extraordinary.” He was just a man, but Jim, he was everything. Sebastian may have been a talented and meticulous marksman, but Jim…</p><p>John stepped closer, voice lower now as he growled at Sebastian, “Listen- I damn well know I’m ordinary. But that, that doesn’t make me <i>lesser than</i> anyone.” Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t believe Sherlock was something so incredible he was hardly mortal. It wasn’t direct disagreement with Moran, as much as just the inherent need to defend himself. There was a kind of understanding that seemed to hang carefully between them, a clear devotion to those idiot savants. This, in turn, came with the knowledge that those two wanted each other dead, and therefore they also wanted them dead.</p><p>Sebastian gave him a look, cocksure and brash, but something held even deeper in his gaze. “Yeah, it does.” He took the bottle back from John, downing another harsh swallow. “Just accept it. You’d be surprised, being a pet isn’t half bad.” He tugged the arm of his jacket back to show a leather cuff on his wrist, silver O-ring secure against the black material. “Day collar. Though,” Sebastian can’t help but snort, “the nights are better.”</p><p>“Stop it.” John barked, anger and intolerance building up. “I. Don’t. Care. Sherlock is my partner, and I want to know what the hell we’re doing up here.”</p><p>“No sense of humor,” Sebastian sighed, watching John lazily.</p><p>“Not when Sherlock is in danger.” John countered, meaning every word he said without irresolution.</p><p>“I already told you, he isn’t,”</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“It isn’t Holmes that you should be worried about, John.” Moran crooned, giving the whiskey in his hands a considerate glance, he’d stalled for too long. Too long, Jim would catch on soon, the detective was likely already deducing. “I do think we’re on a first-name basis, right?”</p><p>John’s jaw clenched, otherwise unflinching. This needed to end, he had to stop whatever this man was planning, on his own, too.</p><p>Sebastian screwed the cap onto the bottle, tempted to drop it, or move across the roof and let it fall to the sidewalk. “Come on, when are you going to get it? Start thinking, Doctor Watson, it shouldn’t be us on this rooftop, now should it?”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Confidence faltering, John tried to think, tried to process. Of course it should have been Sherlock, it should have been Sherlock defenseless against Moriarty on a fucking rooftop.</p><p>“You and I, we’re so similar. Could’ve gotten along well-” Sebastian sighed, taking a step back, “Say we wouldn’t, if you’d like. But you, just like me, have decided that you would die for your genius.”</p><p>“W-what do you-” John started, wary, as dread coursed through him.</p><p>
  <i>“And now you’re going to.”</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated. I'm open to critiques and opinions, too &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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